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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959558">i'd still do it even if we were cursed</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptor_Squad/pseuds/Raptor_Squad'>Raptor_Squad</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Powerpuff Girls</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, Swearing, couples spend nights at each other’s homes, thats it thats the implication, this is all really quite soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:34:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,122</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23959558</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raptor_Squad/pseuds/Raptor_Squad</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life - F. Scott Fitzgerald</p><p>I love watching couples interact, the proprietary way they revolve around each other, so this is a collection of scenes and moments featuring the PPG and RRB as they grow up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brick/Blossom Utonium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>109</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i'd still do it even if we were cursed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So I read CarrieDreamers "As Time Goes By" and fell in love with leecheedoodles fan art on instagram, and this is the result of that. <br/>*Note: carriedreamer read and kudos’d this thing I wrote in a tipsy stupor at wineoclock I’m sCREAMiNg!!!¡¡¡<br/>There will be more parts added but I'm not gonna list it as incomplete because each chapter is a standalone fic. Subscribe if you wanna keep up to date with it! </p><p>I don't know how to embed links send help</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>
  <strong>BRICK</strong>
</p><p>She doesn’t know it yet, but he can’t take his eyes off of her. The little quirks and idiosyncrasies that once drove him up the wall have someway, somehow, some<em>time, </em>become the most endearing parts of her.</p><p>The way she holds her little thermos cup to her chest, keeps it pressed between the gap of her -his!- sweater and the swan-like column of her neck. When her cup empties, she’ll lean back from her textbook, blink a few times to clear the haze of learning from her eyes, and then she’ll put her pen in her mouth so she can pour another cup.</p><p>The way she folds her long legs into the wooden chair, sometimes folds her entire body into the oddest configurations, and all of her attention will be on the material. She won’t notice or complain of any discomfort until she has to get up and walk on sleeping feet, leaning into his side all the way to the parking lot.</p><p>She doesn’t know it yet, but he loves her. Is crazy about her. Would stand at her side if she decides she wants to take over the world. Would burn the world to the ground for her.</p><p>He can hardly remember a time when she wasn’t in some way a part of his life. Even when he hated her and everything she represented, he was still curious. How did she do it? Balance the varying roles she had to play; dutiful eldest daughter, leader of a team of superheroes, honors student, big sister, the list could go on for all the things she’s done in her life. He hated how easy she made it look, how seamless her leadership seemed to be. He’s a little ashamed of how long it took for him to see past her masks.</p><p>She’s humming again, absolutely determined to run her latest musical obsession into the ground. </p><p>“That’s Lixxo, right?” he highlights a passage on his yPad and shifts in his seat. His arm slides off the back of her chair to rest on her curved back, moving in gentle circles to soothe and gently remind her to straighten.</p><p>The sun is setting through the windows; she smells of berry shampoo and him. </p><p>She hums in the affirmative.</p><p>“Do you want another coffee or do you want to go back to mine?” he asks a few minutes later, the sounds of the barista’s stacking chairs echoing through the lounge. She sits up after a moment, bit by bit putting away her homework. First the notebook closes, then the pen gets slipped absently into her pencil bag, then the cup gets set down, and then the textbook shuts. She picks up her thermos to shake, pouts, and then downs the rest of her coffee before replacing the lid and screwing the bottle shut. He hasn’t moved. She leans over to lay her head on his shoulder, and he readjusts his position to accommodate her. He has half a page left in this section. Her hand falls to his thigh, thumb stroking the tattoo she knows is hidden beneath his jeans, but she’s otherwise quiet until he bookmarks his page and locks his screen.</p><p>“Can I have both?” she pouts at him, puppy eyes in full effect. He grins. A nod, a happy hum, and then her bag is over his shoulder and she’s wrapped around his arm as they call <em>good night</em> to the barista’s and leave.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>BLOSSOM</strong>
</p><p>He doesn’t know it yet, but she’s stalling. She asks for ice cream instead of coffee before they go home and then pleads for them to walk around a bit. He relents, eventually, and texts his brothers to just order in for dinner since he’ll be home late. He pretends to be grumpy about it, but he seems happy enough teasing her about her ice cream order. Double coffee scoop in a chocolate waffle cone with crushed graham crackers. Sue her. She likes coffee.</p><p>He pulls her close as they walk through the plaza, lit up with Christmas lights and filled with shoppers.</p><p>“Only you would want ice cream in November,” he rolls his eyes and then licks a stripe up his double scoop of strawberry shortcake.</p><p>“I thought you said it wasn’t that cold?” she scans the windows with her eyes, the picture of nonchalance. The laugh starts in his throat and he squeezes her hand, his palm heating up a little bit and she knows his eyes are glowing like embers.</p><p>“It’s <em>never</em> that cold, babe.” She wants to melt. He makes her feel like liquid when all the world ever saw was her ice.</p><p>Surprise Party. Stall Brick until Buttercup calls. Do not, repeat DO NOT kidnap boyfriend before Buttercup calls. No matter how seductive he’s being with his fox-eyes the color of passion.</p><p>“Exactly. Lick your ice cream, Brick.” They stroll until their treats are devoured. She spots an opportunity ahead and can just barely hear the notes of Claire de Lune over the ambient noise. She speeds towards the piano, all but dragging him along, and he’s already starting to protest and tug backwards.</p><p>“Pinky, no. Babe, babe! C’mon. I refuse, no!” but he’s laughing. And she loves his laugh, and she will pull and tug until he howls with laughter, the way it should be, always.</p><p>“C’mon, Brick, please? I haven’t heard you play in too long, how will I choose my accompaniment this year?” she smirked. They stop a few meters away from the piano, the old woman currently sitting there smiling serenely as she begins Moonlight Sonata.</p><p>“The day you let someone else accompany you is the day Butch goes vegan,” he rolls his eyes and scowls, but she can see the smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. She turns to face him head on, rising on her toes and gripping his broad hands in both of hers.</p><p>“Please, honey?” His face flushes, and under the soft warm glow of the Christmas lights strung everywhere his freckles stand out like beacons. She wants to kiss every single one, the dusting across his nose and cheeks and the stray freckles on his neck, just to the right of his collarbone. He sighs, pretend exasperation in his otherwise adoring gaze, eyes like molten lava.</p><p>“Any requests, your highness?” he turns and inclines his head towards the elderly woman as she nears the end of her piece, and she returns the gesture with a pearly smile. Blossom leans on his arm, satisfaction in every limb, and says, “something that feels like home.” He looks at her oddly, a tilt of his head, a quirk of his brow, but he nods all the same and moves away to help the elderly woman up from the bench. She whispers something that makes him blush, freckles on full display, and then he’s adjusting the bench to accommodate his long legs.</p><p>Blossom vaguely recognizes some of the shoppers around them, curious gazes on the reformed Rowdyruff; Ms. Walsh from the botanical gardens, Mr. Xi-Song from the planetarium, and a few kids from school. She feels a few curious gazes pointed at her, and she picks up some of the whispers, but ultimately pays them no mind.</p><p>Brick is about to play the piano for her: nothing else matters.</p><p>It’s a somber tune, somehow melancholy and yet bursting at the seams with ecstatic joy. She loves his hands, loves watching them almost as much as she loves feeling them. He’s always been shy about them, about the patchwork of discolored skin that came as a result of trying to control his powers. Now he can conjure and hold a flame near indefinitely without burning himself, but she remembers those intrepid bandage filled days.</p><p>The tune swells towards the resolution and she can see it in his posture, the straight line of his back, the breathtaking width of his shoulders as his beautiful hands stretch towards opposite ends of the piano. He loves the challenge of the instrument, of course, but he loves this, too; losing himself in the music. </p><p>He doesn’t know it yet, but she loves him. Is <em>in love with him </em>as much as her foolish young heart can be.</p><p>Her phone vibrates in her pocket and she rejects the call immediately, only pulling her phone out enough to make a show of rapidly texting Buttercup a succinct <em>‘received. go.’</em></p><p>Brick plays the last few chords softly, gently, making her think of weekend mornings tangled in his bed, half-asleep and humming as he runs his fingers lightly over her spine. Of evenings curled up under his window, staring at the flashing lights in the sky while he bickers with his brothers in the kitchen.</p><p>
  <em>Home.</em>
</p><p>She beams at him, indulges her desire to kiss his flushed cheeks, and tucks herself under his arm, already turning to leave. The elderly woman stops them after a single step and they both have to look down to meet her eyes. God, she’s <em>tiny, </em>the epitome of grandma’s, with curly white hair bundled into a bun at the crown of her head.</p><p>“Everything alright, ma’am?” Brick asks lowly, bending his knees to eliminate the disparity, and if Blossom thought the height difference between herself and Brick was a <em>little </em>ridiculous, seeing this woman basically come up to Brick’s <em>stomach </em>makes her want to giggle hysterically. </p><p>“Where did you learn to play, honey?” she waves away his concern as if clearing smoke. She has several glittering rings and her hands gently jingle with thin gold bangles. Her caramel skin is taught, but the lines around her eyes and mouth, the smattering of beauty spots and freckles across her whole face, and the very air around her screams <em>timelessness </em>and <em>wisdom.</em></p><p>“Oh! Uh- I taught myself?” Brick rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and Blossom catches the woman’s eyes. She grins, something sly and charming about it.</p><p>“I thought so,” she huffs and hands Brick a business card, “I retired from teaching a few years ago, but I’d make an exception for you. Such soulful playing and raw talent. I’d like to help you sharpen your skills,” She hums and her lips settle into a more contented smile. Brick opens his mouth to protest but she slices her hand through the air sharply, bangles singing.</p><p>“I insist. You can pay me in concerts, honey. There’s something about experiencing a handsome young man play the piano that’s just so lovely, right dear?”</p><p>Two pairs of eyes settle on Blossom’s face. She grins widely, already thinking of how she can bribe or blackmail Brick into accepting the free instruction.</p><p>“Absolutely, ma’am.”</p><p>“A smart young lady you have, be sure to keep her warm, honey. I’ll be seeing you, lovelies!”</p><p>Brick’s face is slack with shock while Blossom wears a bright grin.</p><p>“Have a good night, ma’am!” she waves cheerily. She reads the business card that’s still clutched between both of Brick’s hands.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Lara Williamson</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Pianist - Percussionist - Instructor</em>
</p><p>
  <em>(XXX) 555-5555</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Is that-”</p><p>“Yeah,” he croaks.</p><p>“Wow.”</p><p>“Yeah,” he repeats, blinking away his stupor.</p><p>“Can we stop at mine on our way home? Dad’s going out of town for a week.” Brick finally looks at her, slipping the business card into his wallet and then offering his arm as they resume walking. She can feel some people still looking their way but the crowd has largely dispersed, back to holiday preparations as usual.</p><p>Brick rolls his eyes, “I don’t know why he insists on pretending you and I need to hear the speech every time.”</p><p>“He’s running out of opportunities to give it and he knows it. Change can be scary, Red,” Blossom trades his arm in for his hand, those warm fingers twining with hers, the heat radiating all the way up her arm.</p><p>“It’s been almost five years,” he says flatly. Ah, yes, the day Boomer <em>finally </em>asked Bubbles out, and Professor John Utonium had to accept that his little girls were growing up. The horror.</p><p>Brick gently tucks the ends of her scarf into her lap and then closes the door, moving quickly around the front to hop in the drivers seat.</p><p>“The blink of an eye,” she teases, eyes on the yPod’s <em>Magenta Christmas </em>playlist. He cups her knee with his right hand once they’re out of the parking lot, the sultry crooning of Ella Fitzgerald filling the car. The drive to her house is quiet and comfortable, she oscillates between watching the scenery and watching him. The way his eyes glow a dark maroon in the reflection of the dashboard lights, the sharp lines of his cheekbones and jaw become more prominent. Through the strange and horrifying process that was X-fueled puberty, they had all developed individual features and defining architecture. Butch was large, built like a boxer with a square jaw and deep set green eyes. Boomer was lanky, <em>pretty </em>even, with his big blue eyes and pouty mouth (a front! a farce! Boomer was <em>a little shit!</em>).</p><p>But Blossom was fascinated by Brick. He had an angular jaw, sharp like a knife and smooth as satin. Ever-frowning, full, red lips, that when stretched into raucous laughter, would reveal a single dimple, on the left. A straight, Roman nose, leading up to his auburn eyebrows, square and neat, sitting proud above his eyes. Smoldering fox eyes with a mesmerizing garnet glow. Everything about his underlying architecture, the way his limbs sprung from his torso, the way his muscles curved around his bones, everything about the way he was made said <em>care and consideration.</em></p><p>Handcrafted.</p><p>Her street is blessedly free of cars and there’s a light on in the kitchen, as well as the porch light. Dad’s car is in the driveway. He stands at her back while she unlocks the door and deadbolts it behind him once they’re in.</p><p>“Hey Professor!” Brick calls into the house as they shed their coats and shoes. He reaches up with both hands to smooth her hair back down after she whips off her beanie.</p><p>“Hey Brick!” her father yells back, his voice carrying from the kitchen.</p><p>“How late do you think the Greens will be this time?” Blossom grins innocently and then starts leading Brick into the darkened living room.</p><p>“SURPRISE!”</p><p>Brick is frozen at her side, muscles all tensed for a fight that’s not coming. She feels an echoing jolt of adrenaline spill into her system, despite knowing the cacophony was coming. She almost instantly feels it begin to dissipate as she takes a few deep breaths to force her system to relax. Brick takes in a singular deep breath and his whole body seems to liquify with his exhale, his hands unclench, his stance relaxes, and only a single puff of fire gets exhaled. He’s got a wide grin on his face.</p><p>“Uh…?” he turns to look at her, happy and confused. Blossom steps out from behind him and accepts the envelope from Buttercup with a grin. His gaze zeroes in on the large A4 sized flat package, the crest in the senders corner, the thickness of the package. Thick letters from Ivy League Universities could only mean one thing, but his gaze still flickers back up to her face, and then her father’s. She knows what’s in the envelope, what the answer is, because Dad’s old dorm buddy called to give him a heads up as a personal favor.</p><p>She holds the package out to him, pristine and unopened, with a wide grin. His hand doesn’t tremble, but he does lick his lip nervously, and she hears the minute shaking of his next inhale.</p><p>
  <em>“Dear Mr. Brick Jojo, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology would like to congRATULATE YOU ON YOUR ACCEPTANCE FOR ENROLLMENT IN THE FALL SEMESTER OF 2008! HOLY FUCK I GOT IN!”</em>
</p><p>The room fills with screams and tears, both of Brick’s brothers immediately rushing forward to tackle their leader in a crushing group hug. They almost immediately begin jumping up and down in sync as they continue to yell. Brick has a radiant smile on his face, teeth showing, dimple out. Once he’s let down other people run up to congratulate him and he seems to suddenly realize what’s happened. He looks around until he finds her, but she’s already watching him, ecstatic grin on her face to match his, and tears in her eyes. She knew already, of course, but witnessing him confirm it makes her heart pound.</p><p>All of his dreams are coming true.</p><p>He picks her up in a crushing bear hug, going so far as to lift and spin her.</p><p>“Babe, I got into MIT!” he whispers giddily. People are still gathered around, celebrating Brick’s success, grinning proudly in his direction between happy exclamations, smiling softly at the couple’s embrace.</p><p>“You got into MIT!” She kisses him then, impossible to resist such a happy mouth. “Keep reading.”</p><p>“<em>-of 2008. We would also like to extend congratulations for qualifying for, and winning, the Presidential Scholarship of $120,000 over four years and the AP Scholars Young Innovators Grant of $94,000</em>,” Brick’s voice slowly fades until the last word is uttered in a whisper. The room has gone quiet again, the initial shockwave felt when the first number was read out.</p><p>“That’s,” Brick swallows thickly, “over half the cost of tuition.” He looks at Blossom with wide, glazed eyes, and then turns, as if on autopilot, to gently set the stack of papers down on the coffee table. And then Brick seems to collapse all at once onto the couch, staring into space blankly. Someone cheers from the kitchen, probably Butch digging into the snacks, and the room swells with noise.</p><p>Brick doesn’t know it yet, but Blossom got her acceptance letter to RISD a few days ago. The envelope, wide and covered in an isometric grid, is tucked at the bottom of her duffle.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>BRICK</strong>
</p><p>Home is a two-bedroom, two-bathroom loft apartment above an old antique store in the heart of Old Town. And he loves it.</p><p>During the 80s some developer moved in and attempted to ‘revamp’ all of the old warehouse buildings by converting their upper levels into condo’s and apartments. A few money laundering and fraud charges later, the project was left half-done, the residents of old town gradually moved on, and City Hall kicked it further down the list of priorities. By the time Brick was looking into legal emancipation, most of the lower level shops had fallen victim to tourist-trap gentrification, but the upper apartment shells remained empty, a pamphlet-perfect lie.</p><p>Brick had come across the antique shop and its owner on one of his patrols, and promptly fell in love with the old industrial architecture. They lived on the second floor, but the top floor remained a shell, used mostly for storage. The old man, Ray, was in the process of attempting to renovate the top floor as a possible rental space, but he had a bad back and terrible eyesight besides, so Brick offered to help. When they had finished, months later, Ray handed Brick a set of keys and said, “welcome home,” much to the 16 year-old’s shock.</p><p>Him and his brothers became legally emancipated minors a month later.</p><p>He jostles Blossom from where she’s dozing against the passenger window.</p><p>“Babe, we’re home.” He unclips her seatbelt and reaches into the backseat to grab her duffle. She grumbles but exits the car, swaying on her feet with exhaustion as she waits for him. He tucks her under his arm as they enter the rear stairwell. Two flights of stairs, down the short service hallway, and the reinforced metal door slides open with a whisper.</p><p>The door opens into the communal space, living room slightly to the right, kitchen and laundry room to the left. A small spiral staircase that leads directly up to Brick’s loft and bathroom is also on the left, hidden by several hanging planters and the dark red curtains that cut off the upstairs view from the rest of the living space. Past the living room on the right are Butch and Boomer’s rooms, a bathroom between them.</p><p>Home is quiet and dark, only the Christmas lights strung along the stairs and around the living room emitting a low glow. Home is cool after a day of vacancy, the air undisturbed and stale.</p><p>Blossom moves towards the stairs immediately, undoubtedly thinking of taking a hot shower and then collapsing into bed. Brick follows her wordlessly into the loft, sets her duffle at the foot of his bed and then begins stripping, tossing the days clothes into his hamper. He leaves his undershirt and boxers on, already digging into his backpack to retrieve his MIT packet. The shower comes to life with a roar and steam starts billowing out of the cracked bathroom door almost immediately. Brick leans back in his desk chair and starts skimming through the papers while he waits for his computer to turn on.</p><p>He hears Blossom sprint into his closet a few minutes later, hissing about the chill the whole way. He smiles to himself serenely, idly wondering which hoodie he’ll lose next.</p><p>Brick receives his answer a few moments later, when his chattering and damp girlfriend climbs into his lap clad in panties and his black soccer hoodie. Almost instinctively he opens his arms and lets his body temperature rise, her weight slumping into his lap with a purr of contentment as he continues reading over her shoulder.</p><p>“Warm yet, pretty girl?” he murmurs after a moment. She hums into the side of neck and presses a sweet kiss there. He finishes skimming, mental notes made, and sets the papers down to embrace Blossom fully.</p><p>“Okay?” he asks, because she’s too tense. She shifts back to meet his gaze and her expression says apprehension and anxiety. And that simply won’t do.</p><p>“Hey,” he murmurs lowly, their brows pressed together, his hands cradling her face, quartz and garnet gazes locked. He waits, keeps stroking the soft skin of her cheeks, keeps his body temperature warm and toasty, keeps her as close as possible.</p><p>“I have two things to tell you, I’m contemplating the sequence,” she whispers.</p><p>“Pertinence?”</p><p>“Of equal or equivalent value.”</p><p>“Exclusive or inclusive of each other?”</p><p>“An argument could be made in favor of both and neither simultaneously.” Her face is grave and serious, like this is the greatest puzzle of her life.</p><p>“Polarity?”</p><p>“Similar, I hope,” she mumbles the last bit but he catches it.</p><p>“Both are of emotional,” he raises an eyebrow - she nods, “value, and in many quantifiable aspects are similar if not the same. Objectively, you are at an impasse. What about subjectively?”</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>Her face flushes a deep, endearing scarlet, but her eyes don’t flicker. The grin spreads across his face instantly, sparks crackling across his skin and the tips of his hair. Blossom leans further into him, one cool hand wandering into the ever growing scruff of his undercut, fingertips scratching gently at his scalp, sweeping from the crown of his head to the base of his skull.</p><p>“Yeah?” is what comes out of his mouth. She nods, lower lip caught between sharp teeth.</p><p>“That’s good,” he sighs, hands moving to hold her close once again. He stands and she holds on instinctively, long legs tightening around his torso and arms latching around his neck.</p><p>“I love you, too.” Brick sits against the headboard and squeezes her against him, all but gasping the long bitten-back confession into her neck. He is so suddenly overcome with ecstatic joy that he would keel over if her weren’t already sitting. She bursts into laughter against him, kisses pressed into his neck and along his collarbone. He can feel her stuttering breath and his body echoes it, the tears coming unbidden to his eyes; it’s the first time he’s ever felt happy enough to cry.</p><p>He’s on fire; she sets him ablaze. He burns hotter for her than any monster of the week, but she’s only ever burrowed closer to the heat that claws at his skin, desperate to become steam. He noses at her cheek until she turns and then he takes her mouth, sweet and loving and still feeling like a victorious howl for all its tenderness. He rolls them, something in him demanding he cover her in kisses, cover her in love, until the dawn comes calling, but something niggles the back of his brain.</p><p>But <em>God, </em>the skin of her lower back is the softest, most sensitive; she arches so prettily into him whenever he runs his fingertips over that sweet little dip. His mouth trails across her cheek, down her fragile neck, to lave affection on her pulse, unselfconscious of possible hickeys that will inevitably be covered up in a scarf or a hoodie or both.</p><p>Brick <em>loves </em>Winter.</p><p>“You said two things, can the, uh,” she kisses his collarbone, already sneaking her cold hands down the back of his boxers to cup his ass. He <em>relishes </em>the day he learned she was an ass-girl.</p><p>“Can the second thing outshine the first? Is it possible? Can’t be,” he murmurs into her hair, leaning down to rest his weight on her, cradled <em>lovingly </em>between mile-long legs. She leans back a bit, removes her hands from <em>‘the mathematically perfect curve of Brick’s ass’ </em>with a sigh. She worms out from under him, much to his protest, but only crawls down the bed far enough to dig around in her duffle.</p><p>“Close your eyes.” He does so immediately, flopping onto his back with the kind of carefree sprawl typically exclusive to joyful children.</p><p>“<em>Please </em>be a wedding announcement for the Professor and Ms. Keane,” he teases and hears her responding groan.</p><p>“A snail, Brick. The man is a <em>snail</em>,” she laments, and then she is sitting on his lap, warm and familiar. His hands move to cup her calves where they’re bent against his sides. The heat from a moment ago flares up again as her weight settles and Brick remembers that his <em>half-naked, freshly showered girlfriend loves him.</em></p><p>All thoughts of ravishing her fly out the window when she says ‘okay’ and his eyes open to her holding another A-4 envelope. This one says <em>Rhode Island School of Design </em>and is covered in a colorful grid. It’s thick, just like his own packet, and it’s already been ripped open.</p><p>“I got in,” she says, quiet and firm, because this has been a source of anxiety for both of them. The <em>what if’s </em>of a future that only ever sped towards them. What if one of them didn’t get into their dream school, could they handle long-distance? Did they <em>want </em>to? Were they committed to staying together after high school? A million questions that cycled through both their minds at varying intervals and volumes practically since they got together a little over a year ago.</p><p>Truth is, and now Brick can see it and he wants to laugh, but the truth is, they had confessed their love a long time ago, before they even got together, in a million ways, small and large.</p><p>He feels another grin stretch his face as he leans up to toss the envelope on his nightstand, her arms snaking around his neck to return his close embrace.</p><p>“Miss Utonium?”</p><p>“Yes?” Breathless.</p><p>“Can I interest you in a short-distance, <em>long-term </em>relationship?” Brows pressed together again, eyes glittering, and a little cut-off gasp.</p><p>“Brick?” her eyes harden a little, diamonds in the night, wanting to hear him clarify, lay all the cards down on the table, and he loves her for it.</p><p>“Rhode Island or Stanford, babe, doesn’t matter, it’d still be <em>you. </em>I’ll always choose you,” he confesses, because the swell of love in his chest feels a lot like the forever kind.</p><p>“Tooth and nail, Blossom, I’ll fight for this,” he pulls her closer, always closer. He sees the acceptance in the slump of her relaxed shoulders; she knows it’s true. They’ve fought through hell to get back to each other, on literal battlefields, in press rooms, in school hallways, even against their own families at times. What’s a few miles between lovers?</p><p>She curls into his embrace, collapses really, relief and happiness radiating from her. She glows in the light of his LEDs, a soft yellow that bathes the room in warm light and enhances the alluring flush of her cheeks.</p><p>“No breaking into my dorm during the week,” she finally says against his neck. He almost thought she fell asleep, too busy daydreaming of a bigger and brighter future.</p><p>“So it’s an issue of timing, not of principle,” he grins, in love even with the groan and half-hearted shove. Brick falls back, and is suddenly overcome with the enormity of the last three hours. She must see it in his eyes because between one breath and the next her own have widened comically in shock.</p><p>“Holy shit,” she whispers. He nods, dumb struck.</p><p>“We’re going to college across the country. At our dream schools.” He nods again.</p><p>“No long-distance,” she exhales it shakily, a potential land-mine avoided. He shakes his head.</p><p>“You love me?” it’s meant as a statement, he thinks, but it comes out as a question. Which won’t do. Brick pulls her down and rolls them on their sides, noses touching, legs entangled.</p><p>“I love you <em>so much</em>, Pinky. Probably have since that first night in the warehouse when we were 12,” he grins ruefully. She scoots closer, determined to touch him with her entire body at once. The night is starting to catch up to him, tiredness tugging at his legs.</p><p>He stays awake until she falls asleep against his chest, even breaths and fluttering eyelids, and then he gets up to double check the locks and alarms. He grabs her phone from where it was left carelessly on the bookshelf and plugs it in next to his own on the desk. He checks the security feed on the monitor and then puts the screen to sleep. He uses the bathroom and then brushes his teeth quickly, but pauses in the doorway. The burgundy curtains, more often than not pulled closed for privacy, reflect just enough of the dimmed LED light to paint Blossom the color of love.</p><p>That’s what he sees, looking at her curled up in his bed, in his sweater, one hand outstretched and one leg pulled up, ready to be thrown over Brick’s body when he’s back in touching distance. He’s going to fall asleep curled around her, the smell of berries in his nose, and wake up in her secretly clingy arms.</p><p>He’s going to wake up with love on his lips. Maybe she’ll let him ravish her awake. Maybe she’ll steal all of the blankets again and become a burrito until he lures her out with coffee. Maybe they’ll spend the whole day in bed, curtains drawn back so they can watch sunlight dance across the ceiling as they listen through his ever growing playlist of lo-fi music.</p><p>Does it matter? They’ve got nothing but time to do all of those things and more.</p><p>And more.</p>
<hr/><p>
  <strong>EPILOGUE</strong>
</p><p>Neither of them knew it, will likely never know it, but they’re the favorite couple of Peter Fields, a 16 year-old barista at the newly renovated and refreshed Bellum Library.</p><p>Peter, the perpetual new-kid, met Brick Jojo last year, when he was a freshman <em>and </em>the new kid at Townsville HS.</p><p>
  <em>Peter was lost, on the literal wrong side of the school, when a loud alarm echoed up and down the empty, suddenly cavernous hallways. He had frozen instinctively, because that sounded like an air raid siren, and he was in Townsville, California, the year of our-lord 2006, not London, England, circa 1942!</em>
</p><p><em>The guy had calmly exited his classroom, just up the stairs from where Peter was petrified, and he had watched, agog, as a bluetooth was jammed into his ear. It was like watching the definition for </em>competence kink<em> come to life.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Red Queen is already en route to the Mayor’s office. Looks like a Cat. 3, eyewitnesses claim it resembles a mole and possess the ability to manipulate metal at will. Blue Lightening on recon, Green Fury as backup, passive engagement until further notice. Blue Thunder, secure a 10-block perimeter around Central Station; everyone out and as far as you can get them.” So calm and collected as he jumped the railing and landed lightly right next to Peter.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>His eyes seemed to take all of him in at once, the quiver of his shoulders, the schedule and syllabi held in his slack grip, even the zit above his left eyebrow.</em>
</p><p><em>This guy was </em>intense <em>up close. Red, red eyes, like pools of blood, and copper hair pulled into a wolf’s tail at the back of his head. Sharp angles made his face harsh, but his eyebrows and the frown made him </em>scary.</p><p><em>“Green Peace to Central Station, track 5, eyewitness claims the mole created and then emerged from a large hole under the tracks, a train was dislodged, possible injuries. Keep your comms on, sitreps as we go, this is a double red alert, MOVE.” So much authority; did any teachers even </em>dare <em>attempt disciplining this guy? Peter heard a faint whistle echoing in the hallway, like something was moving </em>very, very <em>fast.</em></p><p>
  <em>The guy clicked his bluetooth and then suddenly all of his attention was on Peter’s still frozen form.</em>
</p><p><em>“You new?” oh god he was going to be eviscerated. The alarm had long stopped, but no one was in the hallway except for them, and if Peter didn’t know for a </em>fact <em>that it was the middle of a school day he would think the school was empty. It was so </em>quiet. <em>He nodded silently, a bit awestruck, a bit terrified, a bit in love.</em></p><p>
  <em>Peter was a bisexual twink in a new town, let him live.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Name? Where are you supposed to be?” He towered, he loomed, he could probably blot out the sun if he so desired.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“P-Peter, sir. I have Bio, but I- I’m lost. Sir.” Peter was going to die a virgin spinster, surrounded by the memories of beautiful boys he was a fool in front of.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Okay, Peter. Welcome to Townsville. Come,” he started walking briskly without checking to see if Peter would follow. The arrogance of his walk, the assumption of having his orders obeyed, it was intoxicating.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter followed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He was led past the abandoned reception desk to the closed office door of Principal Keane.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Oh god, Aunt June was going to kill him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The guy opened the door without knocking, comfortable as a clam and clearly in a rush. Principal Keane was sitting calmly behind her desk, typing at her computer furiously, seemingly unbothered by the weirdness of the world.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Hey Ms. K, found a stray. Peter, supposed to be in Bio, might be experiencing some mild shock. Gotta run!” and then the guy was gone in a blur of red. Had Peter just seen…?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself, but not quietly enough to escape Principal Keane’s ears; she clucked at him like a scolding bird.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Have a seat, Peter, might be here a while,” she waved him over absently, not even looking up from her computer. He did so mechanically. Peter learned more during those three hours in Keane’s office than he did his previous ten years of public education.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Brick Jojo. The Red Dragon. The Powerpuff Girls, the (reformed) Rowdyruff boys. The X Team. Monsters (??) of the week.</em>
</p><p><em>Turns out Aunt June wasn’t crazy. She actually </em>was <em>the background character in some superhero story. Jesus Christ.</em></p><p>
  <em>Peter went home that day knowing he’d been changed, intrinsically, just by witnessing a living, breathing superhero command the first response to a monster mole attack in a public school hallway, wearing a t-shirt with Kermit the frog sipping tea on it.</em>
</p><p>-</p><p>And then there was Blossom Utonium, the <em>Red Queen.</em></p><p>Peter had wanted to hate her simply because she was proof that his fantasies of riding Brick into the sunset were null and void. And then she had opened her mouth.</p><p>-</p><p><em>He never ate lunch in the commons. Too crowded and noisy and painfully reminiscent of every high school movie ever shat out by Dollywood. But it was his turn to man the Valentine’s Telegram table, and certain sacrifices had to be made for the sake of the Orchestra. He had been minding his business, joking with his cohort, Marie, when </em>they <em>had entered the room. No one reacted in any tangible way, but the air suddenly felt different, charged. The hairs on the back of Peter’s neck tingled.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Oh, shit,” Marie had muttered without moving her mouth, eyes locked on something across the room.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The so-called ‘X-Team’, named after the chemical compound adhered to their DNA. Team leaders Blossom Utonium and Brick Jojo in the lead with Buttercup and Butch right behind, Bubbles and Boomer bringing up the rear. And their ‘Normie’ friends: Mike Believe and his girlfriend Robin Snyder, Mitch Mitchelson and his boyfriend Leo Waters. A large group made up entirely of couples, as far as Peter could tell, lucky bastards. But there was something about their huddle that made Peter’s brain itch, something about the formation, the almost intentional positioning of every player that made his eyes narrow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Brick and Blossom were leading them towards the doors to the picnic tables outside, laughing, and now that Peter looked, yeah, there was one empty table surrounded by full ones.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“She never learns,” Marie hissed under her breath and Peter swiveled his head back to her with a questioning hum. She only shook her head and gestured for him to watch. He turned back to the X Team and then he understood.</em>
</p><p><em>Petunia ‘Princess’ Morebucks was </em>stalking <em>towards the X Team, no, towards </em>Blossom, <em>with a murderous sneer on her face.</em></p><p>
  <em>He’d only been at THS for about two months, but this was a tight-knit community and word spread like wildfire. An old rivalry, a long-standing crush, multiple rejections falling on deaf ears, increasingly ridiculous and desperate attempts at courting, and it looks like Peter was about to bear witness to one of the famous Morebucks Meltdowns.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“YOU TRIFLING WHORE!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The entire commons froze, hell maybe the entire school froze. The X Team had stopped mid stride, all but in the center of the room on their way outdoors. Peter watched them close ranks almost immediately, not a word or glance shared between them as all eyes were focused on the seething heiress. The Normies formed a loose half circle behind the six enhanced teens, a defensive line. The Greens covered the left flank, the Blues on the right flank, and dead center, taking point, were the statuesque Reds.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter wondered if anyone else noticed the near militaristic perfection of their unit.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Excuse me?” her voice rang out like a bell for all that it was delivered in a quiet and controlled tone.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Don’t play dumb, TRAMP! I SAW YOU KISS HIM LAST NIGHT AT FUCKING ANGIE’S! WHO THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?” God was she starting to foam at the mouth? Marie, as well as more than half the students in the room, openly expressed their shock.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“They’re not a Thing?” Peter whispered to Marie. She shook her head no.</em>
</p><p><em>“But the Blues and Greens and Norms are?” Marie nodded and then leaned in to whisper even quieter in his ear, “they’re the last single ones in the whole group. Or…they </em>were.” <em>Peter could see the astonishment in her eyes, the perhaps veiled jealousy as well. Marie was a sophomore, and she grew up in this town, and she was the first person Peter gushed to about his newly discovered red kink. Oh, honey.</em></p><p><em>“Am I not allowed to kiss someone I’m interested in?” Blossom was still cool and collected, really earning her moniker, Peter thought. Brick was standing next to her, silent and deadly and watching the proceedings with narrowed eyes. Narrowed eyes that seemed to vaguely </em>glow <em>even from across the room.</em></p><p>
  <em>“Not if it’s Brick! Fucking home-wrecking Ice Bitch! You probably tricked him, didn’t you! What were you doing?” Morebucks resembled a pufferfish with the way she seemed to inflate with her rage, likely preparing to scream more obscenities, but she was cut off by the Ice Queen herself.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You want an explanation? You want details, Petunia? I’m more than happy to oblige,” that smile was scary, terrifying really, and Peter’s competency kink flared to life anew.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Peter had A Type, namely: tall terrifying redheads who could stomp him while balancing a checkbook. Blindfolded.</em>
</p><p><em>Brick smirked, only a brief twitch of his mouth, and then he waved the rest of the X Team off, threat apparently assessed and </em>dismissed. <em>They resumed their path to the picnic tables with the Greens taking lead now, all but walking in sync. Seriously, did anyone else notice the almost </em>creepy <em>synchronicity this group had?</em></p><p><em>“He picked me up at 5. We went to the Aquarium to see the new baby seals. We even held hands. And then we went to </em>Angie’s, <em>where we ate burgers and shared a milkshake and a chaste kiss. Something you wouldn’t be familiar with, I know, so I’ll use small words. It’s when you kiss someone without trying to suck their face off or get in their pants.” Blossom was a scant few feet away from Morebucks, who couldn’t seem to decide on whether she was outraged or embarrassed. Brick turned and winked at the hoot that came from the lunch line, rakish arrogance in his devil-may-care grin.</em></p><p>
  <em>“And tonight,” Brick tugged Blossom back to his side and threw an arm over her dainty shoulder. Peter had to admit it; they looked good together. Like bookends.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“We’re going out again. Maybe we’ll hold hands, maybe we’ll do something that requires knowledge of SAT words,” he winked at Blossom, who was blushing and had a hand pressed against Brick’s side and was clearly loving every moment of this verbal evisceration.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Maybe we’ll stop by Judge Snyder’s office and file that restraining order. Do you still have it, Brick?” Blossom’s grin was pure sadistic evil and Peter was so emotionally turned on and conflicted that he might combust. From the heated look in his eye, the Red Dragon was facing a similar dilemma.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Sure do, babe. I even got a frame picked out,” he slouched carelessly on the back of an empty chair at one of the surrounding tables. Every single one of the students sitting there was watching the scene play out with wide eyes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Red or black?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Pink, actually.” And oh god those were twin smiles of sadistic glee. Morebucks looked like she’d seen a ghost just bitch-slap her grandmother. Only Brick Jojo could out loud, in front of half the student body, claim to own a pink picture frame with pride. Someone wolf-whistled from upstairs and when Peter glanced up he saw that many students were pressed against the railing, a captive audience.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Holy fuck,” Marie whispered, with feeling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’m going to die,” Peter wheezed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“You-!” Morebucks tried to be angry and threatening, trying to appear taller to compete with the towering redheads, but Peter knew one basic principle better than most.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Predators could smell fear.</em>
</p><p><em>And Princess Morebucks was </em>afraid <em>of the Reds, for all her whining and screeching and exclamations of love.</em></p><p><em>“Last warning, Morebucks,” Brick intoned silkily as he stood to his full 6’5” height and made a show and slinging Blossom’s backpack over his shoulder.“I hear even a </em>whisper <em>of you going after my girl again and you’ll be shivering in Antarctica before Daddy can say ‘foul’. Don’t believe me?”</em></p><p><em>Brick stepped in front of Blossom and Peter was on the edge of his seat. The man oozed control, like he was aware of and commanded every </em>cell <em>in his big beautiful body. He leaned forward and murmured something too low for anyone else to pick up, but Morebucks stiffened and paled and actually stumbled back as if she’d been struck. Her mouth dropped into a little O of shock, and then she was clicking away in her six-inch platforms, all but sprinting from the commons without another word.</em></p><p>
  <em>Silence.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Brick sighed loudly, a mixture of exasperation and relief, and then he grabbed Blossom’s hand and led her out to their friends.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“Oh my god,” Marie gasped as soon as the door shut. The entire room filled with sound almost immediately, phones out and fingers flying as the THS rumor mill spun.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>“I’ve never been so terrified and turned on in my life,” Peter took a deep breath, the image of those two forces of nature standing tall and proud together burned into his retinas.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>After about a year of passively observing them at school and eventually making their coffee at the library, Peter liked to think he knew them pretty well. Brick had remembered his name, had congratulated him on the job, had asked if he was used to Townsville yet with the kind of sarcastic smile of someone well-versed in the game. He’d been formally introduced to Blossom, who was soft-spoken and terrifyingly beautiful up close.</p><p>But they weren’t Peter’s favorite couple because they were devastatingly attractive or frighteningly competent and powerful.</p><p>They were his favorites because they were so, well, <em>human.</em></p><p>Brick liked lemon bars and strawberry shortcakes. Blossom like anything chocolate or coffee flavored as long as it was saccharine. They preferred sitting in the lounge with the comfy couches and floor cushions and a plate of treats between them, and largely communicated silently.</p><p>Out of all the siblings, the Reds were the most striking, simply because they were noticeably <em>paranormal. </em>It was the eyes, bright red and pale pink and maybe a little too big on both their faces but it just somehow made them <em>more</em> attractive.</p><p>But beneath the uncanny gazes and the destructive powers coiled under their skin, they were maybe the most <em>normal </em>people Peter had ever met.</p><p>They complained about shit like schoolwork and their siblings and inefficient bureaucracy. They panicked about deadlines and assignments and the future. They studied, a lot, and more than once Peter had gently prodded them to leave the library because it was closing and no, Blossom, ma’am, you cannot sleep in the references section. They snuck glances at each other from across tables and rooms, and used bickering as a cover for their flirting.</p><p>He held doors open for her, carried her books at school, offered her sisters rides even though all six of them could <em>fly. </em>She touched him constantly, was quietly possessive and proprietary with him as evidenced in her sudden change of wardrobe after half a year of dating.</p><p>Peter knew the second he’d seen her in the Kermit meme shirt, tucked into high-waisted jeans as she was escorted by a <em>smug </em>dragon into school, he knew that whatever unofficial dance they had been doing was <em>officially </em>over. The rumor mill had been <em>ablaze </em>that day.</p><p>It was so normal, so <em>ordinary, </em>that sometimes Peter forgot that they co-lead a team of enhanced teenagers. He’d forget until Marie sent him the latest and greatest from the XTEAMGO XuTube channel and he’d bear witness to clips from different phones, of different angles and team members in various stages of combat. And then he’d remember, a little ruefully, that Blossom, the girl who once tripped over her own scarf on her way to get more coffee, was also the girl who could freeze and then <em>shatter </em>a 50-foot tall behemoth with a single kick. That Brick, the guy who literally helped old ladies across the street and then blushed when they pinched his, <em>ahem, </em>cheeks, was also the guy who could shoot literal jets of roaring fire from his hands and feet, as well as his mouth.</p><p>Peter knew them as well as any outsider could, maybe a little better just by default of his job allowing him the opportunity to observe them in their natural habitat, as it were, and without trying to sound creepy: he loved them.</p><p>They were sweethearts, and every time they looked at each other Peter was reminded that pure love <em>did </em>exist, was possible if one was willing to reach out and grab it. They loved their families and their city, of course, it was visible to anyone who watched them fight to protect it, but the way they loved each other felt <em>cosmic. </em>Pre-ordained. Destined, even.</p><p>They don’t know it, but watching them love each other gave Peter hope and courage, inspired him to <em>try.</em></p><p>They don’t know it, but he’s not the only one.</p><p>
  <em>Fin</em>
</p>
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